


No one Will Notice

by Currawong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Currawong/pseuds/Currawong
Summary: Jaime Lannister ends up with Widows Wail.





	

"You may not be much use as a fighter," Cersei's eyes flicked scornfully to his golden hand, "but at least you've managed to lead the army." 

He kept his face neutral, refusing the bait. "I do my best."

"Of course you do." Her voice was as cold as the silver chains trimming her new gown. "You seem to have dealt with the Tyrells and those invaders - Dothani, Dothraki, whatever they're called. No matter. A few half naked savages are hardly a match for a Lannister army." A sniff and a toss of the head, coiled braids looking like snakes. "Now you can go and deal with the northerners. Permanently this time. Starting with Edmure Tully."

"I don't intend to spend my life re-taking Riverrun. And Edmure will have his own problems - I doubt he's loved by the men there, after handing it over to the Freys last time." _With any luck, someone will kill him while he sleeps._

"Edmure is a Tully, and he is uncle to that little bitch Sansa Stark. I want him dead, and that castle in Lannister hands."

"Our men would be better placed here, or going home to secure the west. We've suffered our own losses, and it won't just be Kings Landing that starves if the remaining crops aren't brought in." _Not that you care about feeding the population, but you may be sorry when you have to eat mouldy bread while the people riot outside._

He might as well have been addressing a stone. "You are not a farmer to be worried about crops. You have your orders. Take the men you need and go." She turned and swept out of the council room, the Mountain a golden shadow at her heels.

 _Take the men you need and go._ He'd be leaving the city undefended, but his sister seemed to believe she was invincible behind its walls. _How much more wildfire does she have? Would she blow up the whole city, including herself? Wildfire or Targaryan dragons - was there any difference?_

Somehow, he found he didn't care. About Kings Landing, about Cersei, about the whole rotten stinking mess she'd got them all into. The sooner he left, the sooner he'd feel clean again. He glanced around the council chamber, at the Lannister banners which had replaced Baratheon ones, feeling the ghosts of councils past. How many times over the years had he stood here silently on guard, hearing and seeing all, yet saying nothing? 

A sword in a red and gold scabbard hung on the wall over the heavy chair at the head of the table. Jaime frowned: it looked vaguely familiar. He moved close to examine it. _Joffrey's sword - or Tommen's. The other one Father had forged out of Ned Stark's sword. What did Joffrey call it - Widows Wail? An ugly name for a sword like that. But that was Joffrey._

He reached up, awkwardly taking sword and scabbard down, and drew the weapon gently from its sheath. Slightly smaller than Oathkeeper, but just as beautiful, with the steel rippling darkly red and grey. The rubies in its hilt glinted, the ornate pommel gleamed. 

Jaime hefted it, sighting down the length of the blade and assessing the workmanship. Had Tommen ever used it? Or even worn it? He couldn't recall. But the edge looked as keen as the day it had been forged, and the hilt fitted his hand as though made for him. He frowned, then stepped back and swung the sword slowly through several exercises, testing its balance, feeling its weight, the movements growing faster and more complex. Lighter than Oathkeeper, it whirled and glided through the air as though a natural extension of his own arm. With this sword he was almost whole again, he could be ... 

He paused, lowering the sword. _Oathkeeper. Brienne. "It's yours. It will always be yours"._

Two swords forged out of Ice. The finest Valerian steel. Joffrey was dead. Tommen was dead. This was a weapon, not a decoration: it needed to be used. By a true knight, not some pawn in the court of a mad queen.

It took but a moment. Smiling slightly, Ser Jaime Lannister slipped his own sword from its sheath, replacing it in the scabbard for Widows Wail. It was a little larger, so the hilt protruded somewhat further, but once he hung it on the wall again, no one would notice. Both the pommels were ornate, and in the dim light of the council chamber, he doubted Cersei would ever look closely enough to see there were no rubies in this one.

Widows Wail felt warm in his hand, almost welcoming. It slid easily into the scabbard at his side. It would need a new name of course: he'd have to think of something fitting. A name to match Oathkeeper. To match her. Perhaps something like Heartfire? Or maybe Braveheart? 

Stubborn, honourable, ugly wench. Startling blue eyes, a distant wave through the gloom. _Where was she now? Gods, keep her safe until I find her again._

Jaime found himself almost whistling under his breath as he left the chamber. Now for his army and the long road north. If the stories were true, they'd need all the Valerian steel they could get.

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic was inspired by the pictures from Game of Thrones Season 7 filming, where Jaime Lannister seems to be wearing Widows Wail.


End file.
